It’s nearly Father’s Day, and I acknowledge the ache of missing him. I acknowledge the gratitude I have for my memories: the sound of his laugh popping into my mind at unexpected moments. The words and phrases that entertained, infuriated, taught and shaped me into this ever-changing lump of clay that will always be his daughter.
When I was a server:
If you put on some rouge, you’d make better tips.
Get around this guy! He’s loafing in the left lane.
On the golf course:
Keep your head down. Don’t try to kill it.
On any professional athlete who showed poor sportsmanship:
He’s a bum.
When I playfully squeezed his bicep:
Be careful. You’ll hurt your hand.
Teaching me to drive a stick shift:
Again. Try it again.
At the end of any long list of questions:
Want a punch in the eye?
When pushed to the limit of his patience:
Gee Zuss Christ!
On any ex/bad boss/person:
(S)He’s a bum. (recurring theme)
You better [whatever I was supposed to be doing] or I’m gonna land all over you!
After my haircut:
Your face is hanging out.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad and all the dads still giving advice and tossing out one-liners.